I've Been Losing Sleep
by b4tmans
Summary: ON HIATUS: John Blake will always have something to say about that Wayne employee, even if he's been told to shut up. Kayleigh Lockheed will always butt heads with that cop, even if she's in a good mood. He's brash and young, while she's calculating and wise. Together, maybe they can protect Gotham. And maybe even stop fighting for three minutes. John/OC, Batgirl-centric.
1. The Beginning

**I.**

He's fighting hard. Punches, jabs, kicks and somersaults. Acrobatic movements of all kinds: graceful leaps and jaw-crushing punts to the unkempt men. He's not glamorous when it come to showmanship. He gets the job done quickly and efficiently.

He takes a moment to breathe and survey the open lot below his view. It's old and decrepit, the breeding ground for filth and scum. His breaths are rushed, his abdomen heaving as he adjusts his hood and clutches the metal rod tighter in his left hand.

Just as he goes to move down from the apartment's roof, he spots something.

Flurried movements and a fighting style much like his own. He knows who it is as the streetlights catch her fleeting out of the darkness. Her leg swings high and her boot makes contact, catching a drug dealer in the temple and leaving him to crumple up on the damp pavement like a rag in the wind. Her gloved hands grasp a baseball bat that's thrown her way, a curse splitting the air as she shoves it back at her opponent, an audible snap coming from his rib cage.

He flinches.

She moves under the veil of darkness well, but not well enough. She's spotted by the dogs: Large, angry rottweilers with teeth that glow under the moon's rays. He can hear their claws scrape across the pavement of the lot as their owners laugh. He knows she's scared now, fearing the large beasts that are chasing after her with snapping jaws.

He makes his move.

"Here, doggy-doggy!"

He vaults over trash bin and sprints to her, scrambling close. He's beside her now, a top of a broken down van's roof. His fingers brush against the rust, and the smell of the oxidized metal meets his nose. He scowls.

"Took you long enough, birdboy. I was afraid you wouldn't show," she remarks, smirking thoughtfully.

Their eye contact is brief, but he can see she's relieved.

"Naw, just admiring your work is all, BG."

She smiles once. She has not always been this glad to fight with him. In fact, she hated him for a long time...

But, perhaps her story should be explained in full, before all the madness started.

* * *

**roughly 8 years ago:**

She worked at Wayne Enterprises. A bright new mind straight out of college with a degree in business and management. Her job was simple: manage the budget and spending money of the company and certains branches to see that everything was being spent where it should be.

It was the summer of 2003 when she began to notice the holes. There was money, thousands at a time, that was being spent with no trace of receipts. When it happened the third time in a month, she raised her guard and addressed her boss.

He waved it off, telling her to check her math.

_That much money doesn't just disappear, _she was told.

But, the thing was, she was good with numbers. Math was her favourite subject throughout high school. She was meticulous in her calculating, and she _knew _something was up. So, she continued her job, pondering over the money and where it could have gone.

It happened four more times in the span of the next month. In that same month, a new character was born.

They called him the Batman, and he roamed the city streets, taking down scum and criminals like something out of the movies. She had heard mentions of him on the news and in the papers. The women in her office spoke of him like he was a hero and someone who always saved the damsel in distress. They even wished to be saved by him.

She saw him as a vigilante: someone stupid enough to put their neck out for the rest of humanity. He was either incredibly noble, or had an IQ count lower than a squirrel. Maybe even both. The Batman appeared all brawn, no brain.

Meanwhile, the transactions kept occurring and the Batman's tech kept becoming more advanced.

She could no longer ignore this.

She began to dig. Wayne Enterprise's had archive on the 7th floor, and so she went there. She spent a whole workday scouring through various budget ideas and receipts for company buy-outs. Nothing was registering on her mental radar.

That was until she stumbled upon Thomas Wayne's military inventions that were patented for the US Army.

But when she found the layouts for the Tumbler and recognized it from the news, things began to piece themselves together. She took that manilla folder of weapon layouts and ideas and stuffed it into her bag, pouring over it the next few nights and re-watching videos of the Batman.

A year passed, and she said nothing. Scarecrow had been defeated in the Narrows, but now Gotham was being faced with another problem. He called himself the Joker. Now, if she had been an evil-minded person or a sour tempered witch, she would have sold out the Batman. She would have given him the information and made a deal.

This man, however, did not seem the type to honor a deal.

So, she waited. She waited a month into the chaos before she spoke up.

* * *

"Miss, Mr. Fox will see you now."

The secretary smiled at her, waving her upwards. A man, stout and fuming looked quite angry as he rushed from Lucius Fox's office. She felt the swarm of butterflies tickles her insides, making her chest grow taut.

She swallowed and stood quickly, nodding and gripping her manilla folder, causing small creases where she held. Her legs were stiff from sitting and anxiously waiting. She teetered in her yellow pumps before smoothing her back dress from any wrinkles made. Her fingers gripped the handle of the office door and she pushed, entering the crisp room.

"Ah, Ms. Lockheed," he spoke, his voice rumbling in his throat and coming out in a soothing manner, "Please, sit down."

Closing the door behind her, she nodded, doing as she was told. Crossing her legs, she propped the folder up on her thigh.

"Now, what is it you would like to talk about?" Lucius inquired, crossing his hands on the mahogany desk.

"I know about the funding."

"Ms. Lockheed, you're going to have to be a bit more clear on what you-"

She dropped the folder, its blueprints and layouts spilling in front of him.

Fox grew somber. "You work in budget along side Mr. Reese, don't you?"

"Yes. I do not know him well, but he's in my department."

"He didn't tell you to do this?"

She frowned. "No, Mr. Fox."

His shoulders straightened, and his brow creased. "I'm afraid you're quite off on the matter, Ms. Lockheed."

"Mr. Fox, all due respect, but Tumblers don't just _show up on the street._ He got it through this company, and the two men with access to the military department are you, and Bruce Wayne himself," she breathed, "I don't think you're the one running around in a batsuit at night, Mr. Fox."

Lucius scowled. "You really want to rat out _The Batman_, Ms. Lockheed?"

She shook her head, her blonde hair falling about her shoulders. "No. I just want to know if I'm right."

"Perhaps you are _but_," he paused, "I do not believe now is the right time for you to know."

A week later, the Batman disappeared and so did Bruce Wayne.

* * *

**A/N: This is mainly ecto1b's fault because she made me fall in love with John Blake and JGL and everything about them. _Nawt kewl, Hannur. _Anyways, I started another story! Again! Yaaaaaaay! Before y'all head back in the Batman Begins/The Dark Knight archive, do my a favor and hear me out. There's an amazing story on this website called _The Boyfriend _by Hatter's Madness. This story is the best story out there. It's so simple, but so vivid. I recommend you check that out. And also, stop by my sister's story_ Bat Appetite!_ John/OC? I think yes!**

**Cheers!**

**-Hope**


	2. The Encounter

**II.**

He hears her curse loudly as shots ring out, splitting the chilly, damp, gray air.

He's almost too distracted by the smell of the oncoming winter to care. But, a single "_damn it_" is all he needs to hear. Now they are in trouble. The familiar cocking of a shotgun, satisfying to the ears, creates a rush in both of the vigilantes. The muscles in their legs spring to life, and they bound over the cars in the used parking lot faster than ever before.

"Jus' like deer inna fuckin' forest, boss," a thick and greasy haired Italian man comments, "A buncha' cowards."

Windows, broken by shotgun rounds, rain onto the pavement around them. Even then, he doesn't quit the banter. "Yeah, yeah, grease monkey. You're the one bringing a gun to a god damn knife fight."

She glares at him, pulling him downwards beneath a vehicle of considerable size. She has never approved of his banter. She always worries it will knock him off of his game, but he is '_too smart for that'. _About to tell him off, she pauses when suddenly the parking lot grows quiet. The overwhelming smell of diesel radiates from the underbelly of the beastly machine that provided cover; the foul smell burns his nostrils. The only sound is his strangled coughs.

The barking of dogs cease.

The shotgun is quiet for a moment.

The men's voices are silent.

They both caught their breaths, rolling from under the cars. They both sneak, gently gliding across the hard, dark pavement quickly as possible.

"Come out, come out, wherever _you are_, you fuckin' twerps."

A loud crunch of a boot meeting glass finds it's way to his ears.

"_Fuck._"

The shots begin again, and this time, he hears her scream. It's loud, garbled. A terrifying screech of pain and agony, one that's followed by the shouting of his name. His real name.

"_John!_"

She is hurt.

The smell of metallics poisons the air. Blood is on his arm. It's warm and sticky, two attributes that cause his stomach to churn.

He begins to panic.

* * *

**about one year ago:**

Her name is Kayleigh Lockheed, and she has changed.

In the past eight years, she has been promoted to sales and budget manager, fired, rehired, and laid off. She is tired. Only 25, the newly christened chain smoker resembles a woman who has been to hell and back. In no way is she gentle looking. Kayleigh, though a pretty woman, has noticed her features grow more and more severe. Her nose, now sharp and too pointy, seem to bug her to no end. Her cheekbones, too, speak of a dark woman who had spent too much time in front of a calculator. Even her movements are quick and sharp, just like her personality.

As she tugs on the red dress, the blonde is scanning the television. Gotham News is on, and the muted television seems to mock her. Replays of two nights ago are all she sees. The black and white subtitles at the bottom of the screen, being spoken by the over zealous man with a receding hairline, mention _him, _and the newest threat against the local playboy.

Kayleigh snorts. If only they knew. The Bat and The Billionaire are one of the same. The woman grabs the remote and presses the volume button once, letting the voice of the newscaster fill the silence of the bedroom.

"_It has been said that the Batman's reappearance will mean trouble for GCPD's commissioner James Gordon, a long time disapprover of The Batman."_

The black pumps are slipped onto her feet carelessly, and as she stands, she can feel the heel of the shoe wobble a bit on the worn down, vanilla carpet. Kayleigh grabs the stick of lipstick on the oak dresser and places her weight onto her elbows.

Dark green eyes scan the reflection in distaste.

The lamp on the dresser is casting warm artificial light on her pale face, making shadows fill the hollow space beneath her brows and cheekbones. Her lips, now painted a brilliant red seem to be all she sees. With one sweep of her hand, blonde bangs are pushed back and she stands full height. Satisfied, Kayleigh drops the stick into her clutch, followed by her phone, a pack of cigarettes, her license and some spare dollar bills.

Soft thuds are followed by the static buzz of the television powering off. She exits the apartment leisurely, and departs out the front doors. The chill of fall nips at her bare shoulders, and quickly the woman snatches a cigarette from her clutch in attempt to warm her chattering core. The silver lighter, one that can be found in any gas station, ignites the Marlboro in one flick. With the warm white and yellow cigarette dangling from her mouth, she settles to focusing on the clicks of her heels against the parking lots' damp pavement.

It's only 7:43 at night, and still it is dangerous. But Kayleigh doesn't care. This is her home and as always, hushed whispers of voices in the darkest corners of the lot are ignored, and puffs of smoke dance behind her as she tosses blonde locks over her shoulder. Hunching over the black Camry's door, her manicured fingertips graze over the handle, tugging it and confirming her suspicions. Fumbling with car keys, riddled with various keychains, she unlocks the vehicle and lights spring to life inside.

Eager to warm herself, Kayleigh falls into the leather driver seat and starts the car. The radio now breathes to life, the vocals of Bono bringing a grin to the woman's face. The old U2 CD, the stagnant reminder of a hearty childhood for Kayleigh, is set on track three: Desire. Kayleigh's head bobs in beat with the guitar and drums, and she puffs her cig. Taking off out of the parking lot, she begins the commute to the party.

Miranda Tate's party.

When, really, it wasn't a party. She had called it a _charity ball, _on the invitation, which really was a bust from the start. Kayleigh's green eyes rolled in their sockets when she read the poshly worded invite scribed on a pastel green parchment piece. '_Most likely recycled,_' she remembered tutting over the ecosystem obsessed Tate.

Rolling down the window, she taps her cigarette before quickly pulling up the glass barrier in fear of freezing.

In all honesty, Kayleigh doesn't intend on going at first. The Wayne Enterprises employee was piss broke. Her pay, now dwindling even more-so than the past summer, was being eaten up by this damn nicotine addiction and apartment rent. Food, more often than not, was sparse. She couldn't really contribute to the _charity _part of the ball. Then again, there was free food and drink... But, the real reason why Kayleigh was going was for _him. _

The woman could only assume that now that The Bat is back, Bruce Wayne is going to be back too. And, if Ms. Lockheed's suspicions were true, Mr. Wayne wouldn't be able to resist flaunting that face of his at this popular _charity ball. _After all, The Waynes were certainly known for their charitable givings, and Bruce was certainly known for being the life of a party.

Kayleigh justed hoped she wouldn't have to dance.

* * *

So far, nothing.

Only two or three older looking gentleman who had eyed her a little too much for her liking. None were Bruce Wayne.

Kayleigh had arrived at 8:30. Not late, but certainly not early. The main hall and bottom floor of the hotel had been reserved for the ball, and as Kayleigh soon found out, more than half of Wayne Enterprises had been invited. It was getting stuffy in that room, and in that tight of a dress, Kayleigh knew she would have to step out sooner or later. Her itching for a cigarette was beginning as well, so the blonde weaved through waiters and boisterous businessmen to the main lobby.

Now, she stands outside, one arm propped on the other. Swirling clouds float from her nose, curling in the frigid air and leaving a misty trail in the dark. Her hand, gripping her clutch, began to twitch and she shifted. To her far right, one man whistles a wolfcall, directed at her. Kayleigh's head snaps to the man and her lips curl. A nasty glare, one that came too natural for the woman, is shot at the trio of men to her right before she take a final drag before dropping the butt to the ground and putting it out of it's mercy with her heel.

A commotion is made by the photographers down the carpet and she only assumes it's another one of Gotham's posh royalty.

In one way or another, the woman is right.

Her shoulder connects with the shoulder of another person and her clutch falls to the ground.

"Damn it."

Cursing, Kayleigh lunges to grab it off the red carpet leading into the front lobby. Irritation bubbles in her throat, and she raises her head.

"Watch where you're going, will yo-" The snark died in her throat. Exhaling, she stands full height, and cocks her head. "Huh. Thought you'd be taller."

Her dark gaze meet Bruce Wayne's and as an amused look dances across his lips, Kayleigh shakes her head. She really hadn't thought she'd get this far... And now, she had _him _in front of her. Did she just drop the bomb right there? Perhaps... ask?

"I seem to be getting that more and more," he mumbles, his brows raising. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, Ms...?"

"Lockheed. I work in budget for your company. Fun stuff."

"_Oh. _Budget. Yeah," Bruce nods, his eyes sticking to her face as she fumbles with another cigarette. "Well, uh, I've got a party to attend..."

Lighting it quickly, she puffs once before crossing her arms. One hand rises, and she shakes her cold was beginning to bug her, and her nerves were beginning to become frayed.

"For the past few years, I've been trying to schedule appointments, you know."

"Few years? Well, hate to break it to you, but same with everyone else."

"I'm surprised Fox didn't tell you," Kayleigh breathes, letting rings of smoke dust the Armani suit which seems to hang off of Bruce's tall form.

"Fox?" Wayne's tone, now a bit lighter, seems to peak.

"I work in budget, Wayne," she utters, leaning in a bit closer. "Don't think for a fucking second that _I don't know_."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Kayleigh's eyes roll. The smoke clouds around her, framing the red silhouette like something out of a poem. She let the black, manicured fingernail graze against his clean-shaven chin. Leaning in, she exhales through her nose.

"A man like The Bat's gotta be careful," she whispers, her free hand tugging at his collar, "A girl could just _drop _the bomb to the waiting press... After all, I haven't got anything to lose."

His gaze fell. "You mentioned an appointment."

"Mhm," she purrs.

"I suppose I can fit you in."

"Much obliged, Mr. Wayne," Kayleigh smirks, patting his shoulder. She turned, her gaze flicking up to the street which seemed to glow under the darkness of the evening. "Next Monday. 12:30. I'll be see you."

With a puff of smoke, she is gone, sauntering off to the beat up Camry

* * *

**A/N: **

**Alright. So, for those of you joining in on the story, welcome! For you who are not new and have been with me since the start, hello again! Story may be slow going and vague for a bit, but I'm sure you'll catch up. After all, Kayleigh has a good portion of time to herself for the next few days. You'll be getting a good idea as to why she arranged the meeting with Mr. Wayne!**


	3. The Meter Maid

**III.**

His cries are frantic, and as she clings to his shoulder, he can feel the warm and sticky crimson liquid dampen his clothing. He screams again for Alfred, his voice cracking under the stress of fear which seems to have him in a chokehold.

The ride to Wayne Manor had been terrifying. He had barely gotten her out of there, and it was safe to say that a hefty bloodstain would be present on the passenger seat of the Tumbler. The whole time, his eyes had been glued to his friend. Curses and apologies spilled from her lips, but as the blood seemed to drain from her system, so did her spirit.

Now, he lays her down on the sofa, and she's coughing. Blood, spit, and tears are all John sees, and he tries to ease the pain with soothing words.

Alfred's footsteps enter John's hearing and part of him slows down, but once his gaze shifts back to his friend, laying in a bloodied heap, he has to begin to fight the tears which are pricking at his eyes.

"Good God..." is all Alfred says before he rushes to her aid.

John's got her hand squeezed tightly to his chest. He whispering things, gentle things, hoping to calm the thrashing and screaming of his partner. Alfred is stopping the bleeding, but her eyes are frantic. She's shaking and whimpering, crying out in pain when too much pressure is applied to the wrong area.

"F-Fuck."

"Not very lady like, Kayleigh."

"S-Shut up, Meter M-Maid."

* * *

**roughly one year prior:**

Kaleigh had woken up far too early, not gotten a warm shower, forgot her favourite sweater at the laundromat next door and neglected the bread in toaster, resulting in a burnt breakfast—all in the same morning.

Suffice to say, the blonde was already pretty frazzled when her hair drier shorted out thanks to a wet countertop. But, when her phone dinged with a reminder about the Monday meeting with Mr. Bruce Wayne, she felt her heart sink and her mind race. '_I am such a damn idiot... How could I have forgotten about that... 8 years and for what?'_

The weekend had edged by and Kayleigh hadn't even stopped thinking about Monday. But, now that the day was here, she found herself panicking. All weekend she had been contemplating the meeting. Of course, it would mean no progress if she walked in and told the billionaire she knew about his secret.

Kayleigh had to wonder why she was bringing this to his attention.

She finally realized why when she stepped out to pick up some Chinese food from the _Grand Buffet _down the block.

There was a woman surrounded by three burly looking men. The newly dampened sidewalk yielded to their feet as they chased her down the barren stretch, shouting obscenities and hurling gestures. The woman tripped and fell. Kayleigh turned away.

That's when it struck her.

_She was tired of running from the crime._

All her life, she had been well off. Loving parents, a nice home, lots of money and enough food for the month. She was a happy kid, always smiling. She grew up, attended a nice school and now worked in a nice building. There had always been something else Kayleigh wanted, and for many years of her life, the thought of becoming a cop crossed her frontal lobe.

Paths changed and she abandoned that idea.

Yet, she longed for justice. For the good people to be treated well and for the bad to be punished. Scowling, she hated herself for the cliche-ness of it all.

Forgetting about chinese food, she hurried home and jotted down some things, only before beginning the a new resume. If Kayleigh didn't lose her job after this, she swore she would never take those damn wheelie chairs in the office for granted again.

Ten minutes and she was ready. Thrown together, but ready all the same.

With a cigarette hanging from the corner of her painted lips, Kayleigh blanched when she spotted her car. She almost dropped her travel mug of warm coffee when she spotted the gaudy orange wheel lock clinging to the rubber tires of her car Spinning in disbelief, she let out a sarcastic laugh.

"For _fuck's sake._"

The blonde scowled and slammed her leather purse onto the hood of the black Camry. Snatching the piss yellow ticket off of her windshield, she growled. Throwing her hands into the air, she took a drag from her cigarette. Two fingers flew up to massage her temple as she placed her coffee down and sighed. This was the fifth time this month. Her parking was fine. She had even checked with the apartment's landlord. "Just my fuckin' luck. God _damn it._"

But, no— Blue-blood had the balls to finally follow up on his warnings.

The time stamp on the upper right hand corner—marked for 12:13—made her do a double take at the gold watch on her wrist. Kayleigh squinted, letting her emerald eyes trail up and down the busy Gotham sidewalk. Spotting a man in navy blue, she felt her lips curl upwards.

_It was that fuckface again._

"Hey! Officer Blake!" Kayleigh shouted, her heels clicking loudly as she stormed after the officer. His name was like venom rolling off her tongue. In one fluid movement, her cigarette was stuck into her mouth, leaving the end of the Marlboro kissed a sharp red—the same red as her lips.

The officer, head ducked down as he maneuvered back to his cruiser, ignored her calls for him. His brown eyes were trained on the pavement ahead of him, but when the woman cried out once more, he felt his eye twitch. The blonde finally caught up, and irritation was evident in his voice.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Lockheed," his response was low and sharp. His back, still turned, signified that the officer wanted no quarrel. But Kayleigh snarled, catching up to him in three long strides, "Here I was wishing I wouldn't have to actually _talk _to you. Or deal with you. _Ever again._"

"Shut up and get the wheel lock off of my car, Meter Maid."

"If you call me that one more time, I _will _put you in cuffs—"

"Yeah, yeah. I know you've got a thing for the kinky stuff, Officer," she waved him off, blowing smoke into the man's face. "Get it off my car. And take your damn ticket back. We've been over this before."

John's nose curled and he moved out of the nicotine laced cloud of smoke that was blown his way. Catching the crumpled yellow paper as it was thrown at him, John shook his head.

"For the last time, Ms. Lockheed, your car is parked in the _fire lane. _That spot is needed to be clear, no matter what your landlord says."

"What do you mean 'no matter what my landlord says'? He's my landlord!"

"Is your landlord a firefighter?"

"No—"

"Then keep your ticket, Ms. Lockheed."

Grumbling, the blonde tossed her cigarette to the ground. Glaring at the piece of paper, her head shot up. "I have a twenty in my purse."

"Ms. Lockheed, I will not take bribes."

"God damn it, out of all the cops in Gotham, I have to deal with _you_ on a weekly basis."

"It was twice last week, Ms. Lockheed."

"Oh, shut up Lone Ranger," she sighed, turning and placing both hands on her hips. Glancing at her watch quickly, despair fell across her features and she stomped her heeled foot. "I cannot fucking believe this."

"You're going to have to put the big girl pants on and get over is, Ms. Lockheed."

"Do you have any idea how long I have waited for this appointment, officer? Years. Finally, the Bruce Wayne is back. Finally, I get to sit down with him. And now, because of your need to be the _bestest cop in the city_, I'm completely and utterly fucked," she screeched, waving her hands in his face. "So, no. I will not put the big girl pants on, Officer _Blake._"

Silence fell between the two of them, and Kayleigh's head fell into her hands.

"... You said Bruce Wayne?"

"No, _Martha Stewart_," she retorted, "—Of course I said Bruce Wayne. He's the only rich kid in this city worth mentioning."

Officer Blake shot her a demeaning glare before straightening his shoulders. "Get in the cruiser."

"What, you're arresting me now?"

"No. I'm taking you to Bruce," John said. Kayleigh paled. And John continued onwards towards the cruiser.

"Why?"

"He _doesn't do _appointments, so you've gotta know something pretty damn important for him to pencil you in."

* * *

**A/N: Here's to hoping you guys liked their interactions in this chapter! Anyways, I hope the layout of this story isn't too confusing. The beginning portion, before the time stamp, is a snippet of a crucial moment in John and Kayleigh's relationship. From the time stamp on, it's the story of Kayleigh and John and Bruce and all that jazz.**

**So, yeah.**

**Tenses are my worst enemies.**

**-Hope**


End file.
